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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051628">sowing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablecloth/pseuds/tablecloth'>tablecloth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy on the introspection, M/M, Underage Drinking, character &amp; dynamic study hehe, exploring kanji and naoki's relationship, lol, romance for 2nd chapter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:28:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablecloth/pseuds/tablecloth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes their lines of sight happen to intersect in the same place, at the same time, for the same fraction of a second, and they see one another. This occurs most often in passing through the school halls. It isn't a memorable event, just fleeting eye contact between larger thoughts of higher precedence. By the time Naoki has his bag draped precariously across the back of his seat, the moment is as good as forgotten."<br/>-----<br/>naoki konishi learns to live, set during the events of persona 4</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Konishi Naoki &amp; Konishi Saki, Konishi Naoki &amp; Tatsumi Kanji, Konishi Naoki/Tatsumi Kanji</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>another thing i started writing a couple years ago now. i have a plan but becos it's taking so long to get around to it, i'm just uploading this first section and seeing how that goes</p><p>naoki/kanji is terribly untapped for canonical childhood friends. also hanged man is one of the best p4 social links</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes their lines of sight happen to intersect in the same place, at the same time, for the same fraction of a second, and they see one another. This occurs most often in passing through the school halls. It isn't a memorable event, just fleeting eye contact between larger thoughts of higher precedence. By the time Naoki has his bag draped precariously across the back of his seat, the moment is as good as forgotten. </p><p>On occasion, home draws forth a different outcome than forgetting. When Naoki's mother asks how school was today, words dulled and echoed against the walls of the storage room as she unpacks new stock, Naoki's memory supplies the pale sheer of scar cutting through Kanji's eyebrow. It's barely a formed idea, more a flash than anything, and ultimately "School was fine," rolls mechanically out of his mouth. But by then the memory has burrowed itself a bit, cozied in Naoki's long-term for later examination.</p><p>The seeds sown invariably crop up later in the night. Sometimes Naoki doesn't even connect the hallway to his train of thought, doesn't deliberate on the exact reason why he's pursing his lips wondering how Tatsumi Kanji bleaches his hair, or when Tatsumi Kanji adopted that delinquent gait, or if Tatsumi Kanji is going to drop out. But the thoughts never extend beyond those reaches. Naoki doesn't mull over why Kanji always seems to be getting mixed up in trouble, nor what became of his friendship with Kanji -- simply because the thoughts don't occur to him. He naturally moves onto another thread of ideas and once again Kanji is lost to time.</p><p>---</p><p>The plastic of Naoki's water bottle is crinkling beneath his fingers the first time he hears the news about Kanji. He's just trying to finish off his drink so he can throw it out when his ears pick up "--tsumi's missing." He swallows and focuses on the voices from 1-B, empty bottle held absently just beyond his lips.</p><p>"The thug?" laughs a masculine voice, not quite deepened yet. "And he's not just skipping? He's never here."</p><p>"I heard it from outside the faculty lounge. Apparently this time is different from his usual. No sign of him anywhere," says a feminine voice, same as the first, words inappropriately loud in their tasteless enthusiasm. In a conspiratorial hush she adds, "But honestly? I got freaked out just being in the same room with him. I mean, who knows what he’s capable of..."</p><p>---</p><p>Naoki doesn't quite process it the first time. Maybe it's his peers' lack of credibility, maybe it's plain denial. Regardless, it takes a second time for the news to bear weight.</p><p>---</p><p>When Kanji's mother opens the door, Naoki isn't sure what to expect. He wasn't sure what to expect to begin with, he didn't even really intend to visit the textile shop. But when he takes in Tatsumi-san's blanched cheeks, tired eyes, neglected hair, he is reminded viscerally of his own mom, when Sis had first... -- hm. He bows deeper than is probably warranted, a weak attempt at curling in on his twisting insides.</p><p>"H-hi, Tatsumi-san." He trips over his words in his apprehension, voice squeezed and cracked.</p><p>Her initial surprise is undeniably genuine. "Well, if it isn't Konishi Naoki," she appraises him and then smiles, some light returning to her eyes. He stands up straight under her gaze, feels it in his bones. "What brings you here?" She asks with a nervous bounce to her intonation that suggests she has an idea of the answer.</p><p>"Ah," jumping right into it, Naoki supposes. "I was... actually wondering about Kan-chan." In this specific doorway, the nickname spills out in Pavlovian response, muscle memory, physiological reflex. Naoki heats and flounders for words. "Is he..." he lets the question waver off because even he is unsure of what he wants to know. He shrugs in vague gesture, maybe to communicate his uncertainty.</p><p>A near-imperceptible veil drops over Tatsumi-san's face, steeling her jaw and crinkling her eyes like there should be a smile, "Well, you know how that boy can be." Naoki doesn't respond. She hums and continues. "He's done things like this before, ran off somewhere for a day or two. He's just taking a bit longer than usual... nothing for you to worry yourself over." She ends with a lukewarm, almost sad wink.</p><p>Naoki nods vacantly, preoccupied with how much older Tatsumi-san seems since the last time he really looked at her.</p><p>---</p><p>Once confirmed that there is more to Kanji's absence than truancy, Naoki is restless. If he knew even a single meaningful thing about the current Kanji -- the one with a nose stud and an ego complex, rather than the one with dark hair and a cheeky grin -- maybe he'd be able to do something. </p><p>Instead, his head conjures up nightmares: Kanji's funeral procession, Tatsumi-san weeping herself to sleep the way Naoki's mother had (does), powerlines and blood and handkerchiefs and hypermarket chains. He'll wake up smoldering, freezing, and covered in a sheen of tacky unease. The day-to-day becomes a waiting game, but at least this time Naoki can know he's waiting.</p><p>---</p><p>News eventually bleeds through the school that Kanji is "home sick." Because Naoki skipped a day (he rearranged stock, organized the store with consumer design principles in mind, laid in bed and forgot dinner), it takes a bit longer for the gossip to reach him specifically. The news is a relief to hear and yet the tension tugging at his diaphragm remains. He wants to exhale a breath he has been holding for longer than he can remember, but it sticks in his throat. </p><p>He resolves to visit Kanji after classes let out. </p><p>---</p><p>Oddly, by mid-afternoon Naoki walks past the textile shop as though he has forgotten his plan (he hasn't). He didn't and doesn't learn. He never does. He tells his mother how fine school was, continues where he left off in adjusting the shop layout, buys dinner from Souzai Daigaku, impulsively sneaks a bottle of expensive wine from storage to his bedroom, sits down to actually do some homework, then heads to sleep. He leaves the bottle in the depths of one of his drawers, still sealed. Konishi Naoki is a weak, fearful person.</p><p>---</p><p>His upper back balanced flat against the cool tile wall of the boy's bathroom, Naoki plays a mindless snake game on his phone. It came pre-programmed, but he only opened it for the first time recently. It's been a distraction (especially when they had to downgrade the phone data package to afford other, more crucial things). </p><p>Across from him, his reflection idles in the mirror. Naoki tries to look at himself as though the reflection were a stranger. He's so angular and slight -- jaw too narrow, nose too weird, chin too sharp. His reflection looks frail, too, somehow. The white overshirt he's wearing washes him out with how pallid he already is, emphasizes how frustratingly petite his shoulders are. </p><p>He can't make eye contact with himself or it would ruin the illusion, so he examines anywhere else on his reflection's body. Sometimes he looks so much like Saki, today he looks more like himself. Maybe that's because he's avoiding the eyes (his upper lids arc like halves of an almond, Saki's do the same) -- his conscious monologue stutters. He feels briefly, profoundly apathetic, experiences a voidness cool like the wall behind him. The thin eyebrows of his reflection twitch with a restrained furrow.</p><p>The bathroom door swings open and Naoki jumps, instinctively bringing his attention back to his phone, a social prop. He'll return to class at 10:35, he reasons. When he furtively peeks to see who entered, his heart thumps hard in his ears. He didn't know to anticipate this.</p><p>"'t'sup Naoki," Tatsumi Kanji greets as he chooses a urinal. The two of them may not interact often, but their memories still tie them together. Greeting one another is a matter of course.</p><p>"Hey, Kanji," Naoki greets in kind, phone lowered to his thigh. There doesn't seem to be etiquette to concern himself with here, so he continues speaking as Kanji pisses. "I heard you were sick, actually. How have you been?" Naoki cannot shake the formality from his voice even when all he wants is for it to be easy.</p><p>Kanji's back tenses. Naoki empathizes immediately: he himself has been put into that position too many times. "I don't care," Naoki clarifies. "I mean, your business is your business. It's just nice to know you're okay." By the time Naoki is done speaking, Kanji is shaking off, zipping up, and heading toward the soap dispensers. He watches Naoki in the mirror, expression hard to read despite how candid Kanji has always seemed.</p><p>"...Thanks, man. That means a lot." Kanji's reflection holds unyielding eye contact. The sentimentality of the moment runs both warm and cold through Naoki. The ghost of a shiver. </p><p>Naoki would like to savor this opportunity to re-engage with Kanji, would like to walk out together and catch up and mess around like when they were kids; but the interaction still isn't even where it could be called comfortable. Something between them is missing, some key item, and it throws off the consistency of the conversation, limits what can be addressed. Were this five years earlier, this would have never been an issue, but it seems the present is all they have.</p><p>Glancing at his watch, Naoki discerns that it is 10:34, with 30 seconds remaining. The suggested time he set for himself isn't law, but maybe it could be a good practice of responsibility. His parents would probably like that. </p><p>"Um, I should go," he says almost apologetically. From his periphery, Naoki can sense Kanji's attention on him. "It was really nice running into you, Kanji," Naoki says to the door before pulling it open. "I'll see you again," he promises. It's an unwitting promise on Kanji's part, too.</p><p>"Yeah, I'll see ya," reverberates over the insistent pulse of running water. Naoki walks back to his classroom, ramped up and bemused.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em> Kanji's limbs are twisted unnaturally among the thick wires of telephone lines. The sky is static, loud and hissing like cable that’s been cut: it stands as a jittery backdrop to the grotesque sight, creating an optical illusion of sorts. Kanji's hair is still black here, like it used to be.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Naoki stares, speechless, but he isn't afraid. The mangled body of his old friend does not scare him, though it should. How insensitive must he be, to not scream at the scene before him? To not weep? Where are his feelings? And what about his poor late sister -- doesn't he care about her? Why does he get to skip assignments when he's obviously not grieving? How can he laugh when his sister is dead and his family is going to be run out of business? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Naoki continues to stare at Kanji, eyes stinging with nothing. The only certain thing he feels is gnarled, pinching rejection. No one ever stays with him, for him. It figures that Kanji would leave, too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Naoki," says Kanji's voice, but the body in the powerlines remains unmoving. From behind Naoki, a hand grabs his own and tugs him away. A warmth radiates from where their palms meet, the heat enduring like a burn.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The individual pulling him down the street, to the gazebo, is a different Kanji. This one is alive, gruffer, with bleached hair and rough knuckles. He looks bigger than the other Kanji, too, but Naoki could just be imagining it. They make it to the gazebo and it is pouring everywhere beyond their little haven. They've hidden from sheets of rain just like this in the distant past. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This Kanji squeezes Naoki to his chest, arms nearly a literal vice, hard and unrelenting. Face pressed into darkness, Naoki can't breathe. He can't see, either, which is something of a relief; he doesn't want to see anything right now. He doesn't want to be expected to remark properly, appropriately. He doesn’t want anything.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Naoki can only feel and hear: he feels the consuming heat of Kanji's hold, suffocating him. But Kanji can't possibly be intending to harm him, so Naoki does not fight. He hears the soothing rumble of Kanji's voice, unable by any means to comprehend the words. It's all indistinct phonemes rather than anything definite, recognizable. The rhythm of the sounds is identical to train ride staccato, the whirrs and bumps and jostles that always make Naoki drowsy. He’s drowsy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's because he isn't getting oxygen, Naoki realizes from somewhere afar. He's going faint in Kanji's arms, missing everything Kanji's saying. Naoki’s attention tunnels as he uses his remaining consciousness to weakly return the hug, arms struggling around Kanji's trunk.  </em>
</p><p>Face molded into his pillow, Naoki wakes with a gasped start. Sweat concentrates wet at his forehead and back, sticky across the rest of his body. He kicks his covers off, desperate for air. He lifts himself to an elbow and just breathes, heart steadying with time. He tugs off his pajama pants and curses himself for thinking tonight would be any cooler than the last. The dream fades quickly.</p><p>---</p><p>Late June is stifling. The A/C works maybe half the time and Naoki can only hide out in the shop's cold storage for so long. The heat is less smothering outdoors than it is indoors, so he's made a habit of burning daylight loitering just outside the store. Seta Souji from the student health association stops by sometimes, in between odd-jobs and whatever else he gets up to. The company lifts something from Naoki's shoulders, makes him feel temperately human. </p><p>Talking to Seta-san is bewilderingly painless. Naoki always felt like his knack for messing up interactions was a cruel inevitability, had gotten used to the uncomfortable chuckles and polite dismissals. Seta-san doesn't say all that much and yet there's none of the standard awkwardness Naoki had been settling for. It makes Naoki think crazily that maybe rekindling his friendship with Kanji wouldn't be that bad, that he isn't cursed.</p><p> </p><p>A conversation with Seta-san gets Naoki thinking about what it means to be alive, however lame that must sound. The talk wasn't really that deep, it was just about the store and the expectations people hold for Naoki. But the question of what an "admirable life" entails was raised, and neither Naoki nor Seta-san had an answer. How is somebody supposed to know how to live life admirably when they barely know how to live life at all?</p><p>But at least Naoki has a life to live, regardless of whether he knows what to do with it. </p><p> </p><p>So now, as Naoki kneels in front of a stack of late work he won't be penalized for, he thinks about what things would be like if he were dead, if he suffered a sudden death like Sis. He really puts himself in her shoes and imagines. Business would bubble up again, that's for sure. "Konishi Liquors Curse: Siblings Murdered in Months' Span." The reporters would have a field day. His parents -- </p><p>That's actually not a route he wants to go down. Sis was a bad enough loss.</p><p>Naoki slides his focus elsewhere: if he were dead tomorrow, would he be content with where he left off? No, he wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't; he would die known as Konishi Saki's brother, the kid with no friends and an affinity for making people uneasy. </p><p>And what would Kanji think if Naoki died, he wonders? Kanji would probably be a little sad, they were childhood friends after all. But there isn't much else beyond those old, fond memories. Kanji wouldn't have an inkling that Naoki wanted to reconnect, how could he? Kanji would never know the vacant devastation Naoki experienced at his disappearance, would never know anything.</p><p>But Naoki isn't dead. </p><p>Before he bothers with an admirable life, he should cut the modifier and figure out the baseline first. He resolves to hang out with Kanji. He makes it a goal.</p><p>---</p><p>Naoki hasn't been inside the Tatsumis' in -- years, now. Four years? Five? And yet the wash of old familiarity he experiences upon entering makes it feel like no time at all. </p><p>Things have been rearranged as in any household: one television was exchanged for another, different rooms are designated different roles, the table is here instead of there, the kitchen counters are this material rather than that. But it doesn't feel strange, like going back to a series after dropping it for a few seasons. The characters and general plotline are the same, the episodes are just following a different arc. There are a lot of shows Naoki has meant to catch up with.</p><p>The bedroom Kanji guides Naoki to is surprisingly tidier than the one Naoki knew when they were younger. The room is decorated sparsely, a few traditional ornaments adorning walls and shelves. </p><p>Naoki's attention is drawn to the giant basket of yarns sitting on the kotatsu, encircled by an array of stuffed figures. Some look like works in progress, others seem primed for storefront. Naoki mindlessly moves closer for a better view, picks up a plush baby seal, turns it over and over in his hand. </p><p>They haven't spoken all that much since they walked into the textile shop, so Naoki clears his throat before asking, "Did you make this?" He holds up the seal. Defense apparently being Kanji's default stance, he is stiff when he answers in the affirmative. Naoki then gestures with the seal, wide to encompass all of the present plushes. "All of these?"</p><p>Kanji is apparently harder to predict than he used to be. His face turns an angry pink, the color spreading down to his neck. "YEAH, SO WHAT!" he shouts. Naoki thinks this might be a sore topic. He backtracks for Kanji's sake.</p><p>"No, no, no, I think it's cool!" He looks at the lovingly crafted little face of the baby seal. It’s very cute. He doesn't realize he's smiling. "I didn't make it clear, I'm sorry. These are amazing, Kanji." The pink of Kanji's face doesn't subside, spreads to the tips of his ears now.</p><p>"'Cool'?" Kanji repeats, almost gentle, volume a sharp contrast to his previous outburst. The word cracks a little at the end and he coughs, clearing his own throat now. "Oh, hah, uh. Thanks." Sheepish, his fingers grip the back of his neck. "I mean, it's nothing really." </p><p>He shouldn't undermine himself like that, but Naoki is guilty of doing the same. "It <em> is </em> something, though." Naoki absentmindedly skims his thumb up and down the seam that bisects the seal, looks around at the other projects on the table. "These are awesome. Really. I don't even know what to say." He doesn't think he's going to say more but he surprises himself, apparently liking how it feels to talk to someone other than Seta-san. "It's incredible that you have this kind of skill. I mean, these look professional. And I -- I don't know, sometimes I --" he frowns, bites at his lip a little, shakes his head. "Nevermind, actually." He puts the seal back where he found it. "I think you should have more confidence," Naoki concludes.</p><p>Posture curiously rigid, Kanji shoves his hands in his pockets. Seemingly agitated and unsatisfied, he takes them back out and leaves them dormant at his sides. He shifts his weight onto his other leg and ends up crossing his arms anyway. </p><p>"If you'd be, like, interested,” Kanji’s voice is a little strained, “I've got these workshops I kinda teach. Ma's idea, not mine. Uh, obviously." He shifts his weight back to the original leg. "It's real simple stuff for kids, but if you wanna know the basics -- or just hang out, or whatever -- they're good for that." His gaze flits to and away from Naoki.</p><p>Brows raise of their own accord before Naoki composes himself. When the hell was the last time he was invited to anything, unprompted? February, maybe, when Sis said he could come along with her and some of her older friends for karaoke. No, actually, that had been a joke, so it doesn't count. </p><p>February doesn't feel like all that far away. Not too long ago, Sis was alive and laughing goodspiritedly at Naoki's expense. How come it also feels like she's been gone for ages? "Yeah," he forces himself out of his thoughts. "Yeah, that sounds good."</p><p>---</p><p>It had been late, past midnight, when Saki got back from her karaoke outing. She had been trying her damnedest to be quiet, opening and shutting the door on her way in super carefully, turning the knob slowly so the latch bolt wouldn't make too much noise. And yet, upon reaching the living room, she found her efforts to have been in vain.</p><p>"What're you doing up?" she asked Naoki as she came up behind his seat on the couch. He startled -- he was always easy to scare, he was funny that way -- before tugging an earbud out and checking behind him. The tension in his features hadn't yet dissipated, brows knit and eyes wide until he realized who it was. Saki giggled, which escalated into a laugh.</p><p>The blue light from the computer on Naoki's lap was the only thing illuminating the room; the highest contrasts were on Naoki's face, half of his features bathed in teals, the other half melded into shadow. He scrunched his nose as he turned back to his laptop, clicking something. "You smell. How much were you guys drinking?"</p><p>"Is Naoki-chan jealous?" she cooed, bending to rest her chin on Naoki's head, arms folded on the ledge of the couch back for support.</p><p>Naoki 'hmph'ed and Saki laughed again, angling her head to rest her cheek on the crown of Naoki's head. A moment of quiet passed between the two of them, only the taps of Naoki's keyboard filling the air, before Saki whined. "Nao-chaan, I want a hug." </p><p>"Don't call me that," he grumbled half-heartedly. She said the name three more times, then maneuvered over the couch to plop beside him. He glanced at her, then went back to the screen. "Hasn't working in the store taught you anything?" he said, but there was nothing serious behind the words.</p><p>Saki ignored him and leaned into his side, gradually increasing the weight she put into it until she was near toppling him. "Sis!" he groused, and handled her back into an upright position.</p><p>She crossed her ankles and finally peeked at the screen of Naoki's computer. She saw a grid and some pixel characters. "What're you even doin' anyway?"</p><p>"It's a strategy RPG. You wouldn't be interested." </p><p>She followed his cursor as he selected between what appeared to be weapons and books. "Wooow, Nao-chan! You're so smart, playing these intellectual-type games," she said, poking his side. It was half a joke. She really did think he was pretty smart, but she also wanted to play around with him.</p><p>Immediately following a click, Naoki cursed in apparent regret. He muttered to himself, frantically trying to go back as Saki watched a girl on screen lose all of her health bar to a wizard-looking character. Naoki groaned, head dropped back while an animation played.</p><p>The girl popped up in higher quality, armor tattered and figure fatigued, apologizing profusely to the player whom she referred to as "Master." Her cheeks were pink, her shiny eyes were pricked with tears, and her bust was barely contained by what remained of her clothes.</p><p>"Oh ho! Now I see what kinda game this is," Saki grinned knowingly, smugly.</p><p>"Huh?" Naoki looked at her and then back to the screen. Even under the blue-white light, Saki could see the color in his cheeks darken. "No, she only looks like that 'cause I screwed something up! It isn’t always like that!" </p><p>"Uh huh."</p><p>He tried pushing her away -- meanwhile clicking the girl off the screen -- to no avail. "Nooo," she drew out the objection in a whine. "I wanna see more of Nao-chan's pervert game!" she argued in a happy laugh, persevering against the force of his toothpick arms.</p><p>"You're drunk!" He kept pushing, exasperated.</p><p>Saki giggled and stuck her tongue out at him. "You love me."</p><p>---</p><p>He doesn't do it often and he's not partial to the taste. He drinks just enough for a night of empty sleep and then a little more. He doesn't social drink, never plans on it. Being brought up in the store, Naoki knows how stupid people can make themselves, and that's not going to be him. Besides, he can barely socialize sober. He treats this like a private sleep aid.</p><p>The wine Naoki had kept in his drawer was something high-proof, high-grade, and on the whole something he probably shouldn't have taken. He makes a promise with himself to forfeit a couple weeks' pay in compensation. If he just wants to knock himself out, wine probably isn't the most efficient option, but anything stronger and he normally throws up. He's a regrettable lightweight.</p><p>Everything put away now, he lies prone on top of his sheets. He feels numb, even his brain is like a ball of wet felt, and it's spectacular. Naoki's phone chimes under him once, then twice, and he has to work to find it tangled in blankets. He squints at the screen when he picks it up, taking a little longer than usual to parse the words he's seeing. </p><p>He thinks he must be misunderstanding something, because it looks like Kanji is asking to come over, but it's bedtime right now, so that can't be right. Naoki keeps reading it over; it's not even that many words since Kanji is not one to text, but maybe that's part of the problem.</p><p>Three resonant, hard taps against glass from out of nowhere scare the shit out of Naoki. He turns, heart pumping furiously, to see the bleary outline of Kanji's short hair and broad shoulders just beyond his window. Pulse settling, Naoki remembers they used to do this, sneak into each other's room late in the night. That’s a liberty particular to living close by in a small town, he supposes. </p><p>"Gonna let me in, dude?" Kanji speaks at full volume behind the glass, and Naoki rushes out of bed to the window. His feet get twisted in an article of clothing on the floor and stumbles forward, gripping the pane for balance before unlocking the window and shoving it upward. It's humid outside.</p><p>"Shhhhh," Naoki warns urgently, forefinger at his lips, moving out of the way to let Kanji climb in. This is a very unexpected progression of events, but it's exciting. Interesting stuff never seems to happen to Naoki, it's the same shit every single day. He's not prepared for whatever Kanji might be here for, but at least it's something new.</p><p>"Sorry," Kanji stage-whispers in response to the hush. He slams the window down, too strong for his own good, and Naoki winces. "Sorry for coming here so late, too," he faces Naoki, "I know your folks're prob'ly sleeping." He isn't whispering now but he's still muted himself significantly, to Naoki's relief.</p><p>With all the commotion, Naoki had momentarily forgotten his state of inebriety. But trying to respond to Kanji now, he finds the avenue connecting his thoughts to his actions and words coated in molasses. Fuck. A frigid shame stabs through him and he doesn't know how to play his cards. He doesn't want Kanji to think less of him, but he's not about to kick Kanji out. Naoki's not even completely sure how far gone he is -- he thinks maybe the anxiety sobered him up. Maybe it's not even a big deal. </p><p>He doesn't trust himself not to trip over shit again so he sits on the desk chair beside him. When he looks up, Kanji's eyebrows are furrowed deliberatively. </p><p> Naoki conjures up the confidence to try out saying more than one syllable. "So what're you doing here?" He says it carefully so as not to slur, like he's chiseling the sentence out of rock, carving each sound to be as crisp as possible. He's so conscientious about talking right that he doesn't consider that the sentence's content might come off as callous. Belatedly, he also thinks his cadence might have been off. This sucks, this really sucks.</p><p>Kanji is poorly-defined by the soft edges of moonlight, his figure coalescing with the rest of the night. There is a clunky pause before Kanji speaks and Naoki doesn't know what to make of it. "Yeah, again, real sorry to be bugging you like this." Naoki doesn't have the capacity to tell him it's fine. </p><p>Kanji's hands are stuffed in his pants pockets -- is he still wearing street clothes? He sighs, "Got into a fight with Mom, made some low-blows 'bout Dad that I shouldn't've. Ma told me to ‘reflect on what I said’ but I was too worked up 'n’ stormed out." His gaze is all over the place while he's speaking, but now it lands on Naoki. His timbre changes after a breath passes. "You okay, man?"</p><p>Even with the moonlight's low definition, the concern etched on Kanji's face is unambiguous. Guilt lurches Naoki's stomach. "Um. Why?" he asks, not really looking forward to the answer.</p><p>Kanji rubs the back of his neck, then rounds in front of Naoki. The closer they are, the more embarrassment runs over Naoki like ice water, or an eighteen-wheeler. His attention is trained on Kanji's dark tank top, on the clean curve of the neckline that separates skin from fabric, on the strong lines of his collarbones. Naoki's jaw is suddenly being gently tipped upward, handled by a clammy but warm hand, and he is forced into self-conscious eye contact. </p><p>Out of character, Kanji seems to be chewing over whatever he plans to say before he says it, examining Naoki's face. It adds to his nerves. Kanji speaks, honest as ever. "How'd you get drunk like this?" The question doesn't have malintent, but the puzzled sympathy slaps Naoki anyway. So much for keeping it under wraps.</p><p>"'t's'that obvious?" Naoki can't bring forth the bitter laugh he intends, so the words come out flat and sad.</p><p>Kanji's hand leaves Naoki's chin to scritch at his own temple. He glances to the window. "Well, I've never seen you this way before and you smell like my aunt. The one who really likes wine." Kanji leaves a space of silence, but Naoki isn't sure why. Naoki must know the aunt, but that kind of thing just isn't coming right now. Kanji looks to him again, gaze severe like it was in the school bathroom. "For real, though. What's goin' on?"</p><p>The tone Kanji uses is patient, but there's a power to it that instinctively makes Naoki feel like he's in trouble. Looking at the shadowed floor, Naoki shakes his head as he swallows around a sharp lump in his throat. He's mortified. He shuts his eyes hard, willing himself to wake up. </p><p>When nothing changes and Naoki realizes he's probably freaking Kanji out, he relents, opening his eyes to the dark again. "I'm sorry," Naoki says, and it comes out clear as day. Funny. He crosses his arms tight against himself. "It's just -- a sometimes thing, I only drink sometimes. To sleep. Is all." He digs fingers into one of his biceps, his other hand in a trembling fist. "I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, no one’s s’pposed to see me like this. You shouldn’t have to -- But't's too late for that, huh. Ha ha." When he laughs, he feels more hopeless than he ever has. He's broken.</p><p>Suddenly Naoki isn't on the chair anymore, instead suspended in Kanji's hold. He instinctively clutches onto Kanji so as not to fall. "Wh-what -- What're you doing, wh‘t's happening?" Naoki asks no one. An arm firmly affixes Naoki to Kanji's body as another one wrenches the window up.</p><p>"You need fresh air," Kanji apparently decides. He tries to manage both of them out the window at the same time, which Naoki in any other mindset would likely have discouraged.</p><p>"Owww!" Naoki whines when his head inevitably thumps against the window trim. Kanji apologizes and makes haste to land them in the grass outside. </p><p> </p><p>Kanji touches ground and tentatively disattaches Naoki, setting him onto his feet. Big hands hold Naoki's shoulders in place and somewhere in him, in this context, Naoki thinks he likes feeling small. Kanji tells him to just take deep breaths, and Naoki's stomach sinks as he just now notices the sensation of water dripping off his chin. "How long've I been crying?"</p><p>One of the big hands from his shoulder wipes Naoki's cheek in a swipe, and it somehow doesn't feel as infantilizing as having someone clean his face should. "Doesn't matter," Kanji answers as he rubs his wet palm off on his jeans. He places the hand back on Naoki's shoulder and then starts kneading a little, probably trying to calm Naoki down. It works. Naoki closes his eyes, breaths becoming less shallow.</p><p> </p><p>After time passes (hell if Naoki knows how much, he might have even drifted off), Kanji's voice rumbles around them, "So you use this stuff to sleep?" Naoki doesn't feel like opening his eyes back up, so he doesn't. The dark is nice, and it blends well with the humidity of the night and the measured pressure of Kanji's fingers. Naoki nods.</p><p>Kanji's voice is soft when he speaks, non-provocative. Usually sympathy rubs Naoki the wrong way but Kanji actually manages to be comforting. "Why not drink tea, or like, warm milk? That's what I used to do. Oh -- or take medicine? It just doesn't make sense to me." Naoki's brows scrunch. He opens his eyes but keeps his gaze down, takes a steady inhale before trying his vocal cords out again.</p><p>"I <em> know </em> it doesn't," he feels inclined to argue for himself, "but tea doesn’t help me not think." That brings to mind all the stupid shit that his mind conjures before and during sleep, the mutilated silhouettes and tangled wires and unrelenting sobs, and behind his eyes ignites hard, hot tension. "’n’ sometimes I'm just wanna stop thinking, Kanji." His throat aches. He's never been so far gone while simultaneously conscious. "But I --" Naoki's voice cracks painfully and his face is wet again. He feels so out of his own control. </p><p>Kanji's fingers flex minutely at Naoki's shoulders before he pulls Naoki to his chest, probably using more strength than he intends. "-- I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't," Naoki repeats, shaking his head, face damp and helpless in the soft cotton of Kanji's shirt.</p><p>Solid arms shift to envelop Naoki, holding him closer. A vague but concentrated sense of deja vu washes through Naoki, like he's been playing into a scene that's already happened. Kanji mumbles something consoling into Naoki's hair, and Naoki is in this moment overwhelmingly grateful for their friendship. </p><p>At the same time, he is equally overwhelmed with guilt for putting Kanji in a position like this. Both conflicting emotions choke him up further, but he's far past the point of feeling embarrassed for himself now. His own arms limp at his sides, Naoki is safe in Kanji's unwavering embrace. </p><p>---</p><p>Naoki wakes up the next morning alone, chagrined, and a little queasy. His eyes are open for less than a minute when he elects to stay home for the day and go back to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Later, when he's awake and annoyed with himself for his impulse decision, he tries to draft a text message to Kanji. He isn't sure what he wants to say, nor how he would even approach saying it. He taps out an apology and then deletes it, uncertain. He probably shouldn't make it into an ordeal, even though it already seemed like one. </p><p>If Naoki had just gone to school, this likely wouldn't be as much of an issue. Where else could he try to meet with Kanji in person? Naoki could show up to Kanji's house or something, but that runs the risk of Kanji not being there. No -- the lessons Kanji mentioned should be tonight, if the details Naoki was given hold up. Kanji would be guaranteed to be there.</p><p>Naoki doesn't know why he feels it's so important for them to talk, but it motivates him anyway.</p><p>---</p><p>"Oh, Naoki-chan!" Kanji's mom greets as Naoki enters the textile shop. She looks exponentially more alive than the last time he saw her, and it makes something feel full in his chest. "It's a pleasure to see you again." He returns her smile and exchanges pleasantries.</p><p>There are about twenty minutes before the session is scheduled to begin, but Naoki accounted for this. He had wanted to use this time to talk with Kanji, but somehow didn't anticipate Tatsumi-san. It can wait, anyway.</p><p>"Naoki?" Kanji's voice travels from elsewhere, and then he enters with a basket of craft supplies. The contrast of the pliable fabrics and plush stuffing against Kanji's hardened facade makes for a startlingly charming picture of domesticity. Naoki holds his laughter because he is certain it would be misread. </p><p>Naoki had been apprehensive about how things would proceed, but there's no tension at all. Kanji seems to light up a bit at the sight of Naoki. "Hey, dude! The hell're you doing here?" he barks as he sets the basket on a table. His mom clears her throat, curt, and Kanji humbly apologizes for the language.</p><p>"Oh, uh, you do those lesson things tonight, right?" Now Naoki is worried he might have mistaken the dates. The look on Kanji's face in return is real surprise, if Naoki had to bargain, along with what might be something akin to delight. </p><p> </p><p>The class ends up being very heartwarming to behold. The kids (there's three of them, it's not a huge affair) adore Kanji, which is really sweet. Maybe it's not Naoki's place to ponder, but too frequently it seems Kanji is written off because of how he conducts himself. These kids don't get caught up in that same social turbulence, though; they just like who they like, and Kanji is a person worth liking.</p><p>Today's lesson focus is hand stitching (the previous lessons only concerned glue), and Naoki finishes the class with a wonky looking bunny. It had been ambitious of him, but he'd wanted to try. After everyone has hugged Kanji goodbye and Naoki has helped put stuff away, the two decide to grab dinner at Aiya.</p><p>---</p><p>They're waiting for their orders when Naoki finally breaches the subject of last night. He gnaws on the dry skin of his lower lip and crosses his ankles before speaking up. "Um. So about last night. I'm really sorry about all of that."</p><p>"It's not a problem, man. Shit happens."</p><p>Naoki sighs, tears at the other side of his lip. "Yeah, I guess, but it was still lame of me to get you involved. I'm not gonna do it anymore though, I can promise you that."</p><p>"Yeah, you said that," Kanji notes unconcernedly as the Aiya owner places their dishes in front of them. Naoki's brows crease.</p><p>"I did?" </p><p>Kanji's already chewing a pot sticker. "Before you slept, yeah."</p><p>Looking down at his nikudon, Naoki pauses before picking up chopsticks. "Oh. Well, uh. Thanks for taking care of me. You really didn't have to." He lifts a piece of pork but doesn't put it in his mouth. "Especially when you'd been trying to get away from a stressful situation, only to end up in another one. I really am sorry." </p><p>"You gotta stop with the apologizing," Kanji says through a bite. "I wouldn't do anything I didn't want. All that's important is that I'm ok, you're ok, we're both ok." He swallows. "Now quit yammering and eat your damn food." He punctuates the sentiment with a light bonk to Naoki’s head.</p><p>---</p><p>Kanji has yet to tell Naoki the full truth about his disappearance at the start of June. It isn't a topic Naoki pushes, but it's one of those things that should probably be addressed. It doesn't take an expert to discern Kanji's avoidances, and the way he veers conversation into a new, abrupt direction whenever the disappearances come up is a bit telling.</p><p>He hopes Kanji will eventually trust him enough to say it of his own volition. They just aren't there yet.</p><p>---</p><p>Rise Kujikawa (yes, Risette, the idol) moves to Inaba, down the same street as the liquor shop. Naoki isn't a particular fan, but her arrival is difficult to miss. He hasn't actually caught sight of her yet, so he doesn't even know if he can really believe the rumors. But it's still kind of interesting.</p><p>Meanwhile, Kanji has been increasingly unavailable. Naoki can respect Kanji's space, that isn't an issue, but the circumstances are odd. At school Kanji will be fidgety and distracted, then he spends the afternoon with his "senpai." Kanji's inexplicable relationship with the upperclassmen is another oddity: Naoki can't determine a common denominator among them. Seta-san he can understand, since he's amiable and charismatic, but the other ones -- Hanamura? What? -- elude him.</p><p>There's a Saturday that Naoki and Kanji plan to hang out after class. They don't have anything special prepared, but they haven't seen each other for a few days. Naoki doesn't remember when a few days started being a long time. It's frustrating, then, when Hanamura grabs Kanji at the end of the school day, mutters urgent nonsense, and drags Kanji off. Kanji yells that he'll call Naoki once he's free, insists that their plans are still going to happen. Naoki smiles and nods and waves. He doesn't keep high expectations, for his own sake.</p><p> </p><p>Kanji actually makes good on his word. Naoki has just finished setting up a video game when he receives the call. It's pretty late, past dusk, dark outside; Naoki asks if Kanji wouldn't prefer to reschedule. Kanji assures him that he wants this, so Naoki shuts off his console and puts sneakers on. He walks to the textile shop.</p><p> </p><p>Inside, Kanji's being screams exhaustion: his complexion is pallid, his eyes are unfocused, his shoulders are slacked. Damp skin and the scent of soap give Naoki the impression that Kanji recently showered, and somehow it makes Naoki feel as though he has intruded on something not meant for him.</p><p>Kanji offers the spot beside him on his bed and Naoki takes it. They talk about inconsequential things until Kanji starts trailing off and ends up conking out. Naoki maneuvers Kanji onto his side and drapes a blanket over him, figuring Kanji can undress himself when he wakes up.</p><p>Naoki wonders.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>plz plz plz if you read &amp; r interested or have something to say i mean ANYTHING please just say it. community engagement is so epic and being able to share stories with ppl and get their feedback/reactions is all part of the experience</p></blockquote></div></div>
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